Tit For Tat
by Romanoma
Summary: What else is there to do on cold, winter mornings...? SebastianxCiel
1. Part 1: Tit for Tat

**Title:** Tit for Tat  
**Pairing:** Ciel/Sebastian  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings:** Er...sex?  
**Summary:** What else are cold winter mornings for...?  
**Ramblings:** I'm a noob to Kuroshitsuji fanfiction, BE GENTLE WITH ME!

Spidery frost webbed across arched windows like wintery moss. There was a scent in the air akin to sweet rot, the flowers standing steadfast in the open window curdling and shrivelling in the morning chill. The Phantomhive Mansion hibernated beneath a quilt of snow, creaking sleepily beneath the weight of age. Beyond the rabid caw of retreating birds, lifted on the wind like casual whispers, was the distant litany of a boy tumbling over the cusp of childhood and relishing the thrill like the dirty little secret it was.

The wardrobe shuddered and thudded, fine mahogany steamed with the heat of sex and want, enduring the onslaught of passionate bodies with stoic resolve. Long pale fingers almost skeletal knotted into silken black and fiercely yanked, hip bones jutting perversely when a single white fang pierced sensitive skin. Ciel sank forwards and cried with guttural glee, fists clenching for the foolhardy and involuntary admission that he was enjoying this. Sebastian's muffled chuckle thrummed like rain on rooftops, Ciel's nose managing its customary wrinkled sneer. Irritated, hot, damp with sweat, frantic, demanding fingers left flaming red whelps in perfectly sculpted shoulders to return the painful favour, Sebastian looking up at his young master in amusement, utterly nonplussed.

When Ciel slipped from between cum-stained lips Sebastian rose, a predatory adder with his tongue dancing over dirty, swollen pink. "Something the matter, young master?" he said, grasping a delicate white-rose hand to lift to his lips. Ciel snatched it away, panting, daring not look down at his twitching shame. Better to pretend his red silk trousers weren't bunched around his ankles, his rear red-raw like the smacked bottom of a child where it had spread repeatedly and obscenely against the wardrobe door. Nor did he dare glance in the dress mirror stood opposite where he would see the reflection of pastel pink cheeks and a forehead dappled with sweat and soft hair that belied nothing.

The room was in disarray, bedraggled sheets of old lovers hanging listlessly, draped across a carpet red like spilt rubies. Undergarments draped provocatively over a chair, sullied gloves curled like snakes on the dresser, pretty boots kicked off with furious insistence to land gracelessly beside the bed. If Ciel hadn't been standing in all his glory before his butler, the state of his room would have made him flush.

"You _bit_ me," he growled, Sebastian's twitching smirk forcing rage up his throat like vomit. He dragged his sleeve across his mouth in mock disgust.

"You pulled my hair, young master," Sebastian said, thin eyebrow a challenging quirk. He idly played with the hem of his gloves, tugging and smoothing carefully until he discovered the sticky evidence of Ciel's passion on the tip of his index finger and swept it clean like a cat preening fur. His eyes beckoned a retort, flame-like flickering in snow glistened sunshine. Ciel's chest expanded angrily. He swept down to yank his trousers up, but Sebastian snatched away his hand, sliding a single, warm digit into his mouth. Momentarily stunned, Ciel felt the swarm of arousal in his belly and caught his breath, watching teeth scrape deliciously over moist skin. When he tried to tug away, Sebastian huffed, stepping forward to force Ciel back against the wardrobe door. As his head lolled, fingers slid over a pulse flickering frantically to grasp Ciel's throat and squeeze ever so gently.

"You are impossible," he croaked, eyes drooping. "I asked you to do one simple thing..."

"And you are a hypocrite," Sebastian replied, clever fingers trickling down his stomach like hot syrup, grasping the neglected little thing below that was eager for attention, though its master would deny it. "You call me to your room so early when you are perfectly aware I am going about my morning duties and demand I deal with your _little _problem. Forgive me, but the provocation was not mine, hm?"

Ciel looked sour, squeezing his eyes shut to hide it. "I am not '_little'. _Just get on with it," he rasped, stomach filled with sticky warmth, hot toddy on icy nights. Sebastian leaned down, tongue and teeth feasting on a single fleshy ear, listening to the distant throb- throb of blood beating wildly against his skull, body tense with the expectation of satisfaction. There was no fooling a demon.

"Get on with what, pray tell?" he said, voice dulcet, a melodious trickling scale.

"_Sebastian_," Ciel groaned in pleasured agony, toes curling in steel-heeled boots. Sebastian merely grinned, teeth pearl against his crow-black uniform. He stood back a moment, fiery eyes devouring every inch of boyish skin, all smooth curves and light tones, the beginning of dark hair beneath a quivering navel. A boy toppling into the adult world, only to tentatively retreat from time to time. "Sebastian!"

Sebastian's laughter was oil set alight, sudden and harsh and furious. He knelt before his master, teasing the soft skin of protruding hips, thumbs rolling over bone beneath skin stretched tight like elastic. Ciel sank his teeth into his bottom lip to cling to the cry clawing its way free, Sebastian's lips pushing ghostly kisses to his abdomen, every jerk and twitch an accomplishment. As he took him into his mouth again Ciel sank back, relief like ice against burns, closer, closer, _closer_. He was careful to control his hands this time, fingers curling against solid wood.

"You are," Sebastian said softly as he pulled back to breath, looking Ciel over like a puzzle to be solved, "quite the gem, young master."

Ciel wanted to fall victim to the trappings of compliments, wanted to feel _wanted_, desired, sexual. Like a man capable of anything, even dominating a wilful demon contracted to protect him at any cost. But he was Earl Ciel Phantomhive. He could not. He would not. Sebastian was playing with him, insulting him... "Shut up," he hissed instead, fingers once more winding into black hair, locking tightly at the tip of Sebastian's spine. "I am not a woman. Do not flatter me."

Sebastian's glance was one of withering disobedience. "Would you prefer I insult you?" he asked, tongue deft as it traced leafy patterns along his thigh. "I can do that just as aptly."

"I would prefer you be quiet!" Ciel snapped, tugging his hair rather hard. Sebastian gave him a look to melt iron, but it did little to cease his master's insistence. He was enjoying himself as it stood, reducing the little earl to a furious, withering mass, all the more delectable for his curious resistance. Though that resistance was faltering as it often did, Ciel panting frantically, unaware of the frightful show he was making of himself in front of his butler as he drew nearer to completion. It could be regretted later, Ciel fleetingly decided, arching, a trapped animal pathetically pleading for the end.

"A-ah..._a-ah_, Sebastian!" His cry was restrained, sweat dripping from his nose. The room was a hot cavern, sweltering walls, scent of sex smothering the air. Close, close, closer... "I-I'm c-com--"

Sebastian pulled away suddenly, Ciel gasping in surprise, grabbing the side wall of the wardrobe to steady himself. Sebastian dusted off his hands and looked around the room, clucking his tongue. "It looks as though you have made more work for me, young master," he said woefully, bending down to pick up a discarded sock. "You are messy. Perhaps I should teach you the value of orderliness."

"W-what?! S-Sebastian, w-where are you going?" Ciel stammered, weight carried by the wardrobe, its only a protest being the faintest creak. He looked like a dishevelled whore, hair like wailing banshees, "Forget my room, you have not finished yet!"

Sebastian only smiled, nonchalantly examining gloved fingers. "I did as you asked, young master," he said simply, caressing the polished door knob with dry delight, an array of clothes slung over his arm. He lifted his fingers to the light to check for dust, pleased to discover none. "You asked for me to pleasure you, did you not?"

Ciel whimpered, pained by this act of gross indecency. How dare Sebastian leave him this way?! "Sebastian--!"

Sebastian wagged his finger, "A noble is always cool and calm, young master. You should not go disgracing yourself now, losing yourself to pleasure. Whatever would the other servants think if they found out? Consider this a lesson, perhaps."

Ciel's glare as the door closed behind him could have sent thousands to their coffins. "Damnit, Sebastation," he whispered, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He bent to drag his trousers up, unsuccessfully attempting to fasten the tie that had been so deftly undone not long before. "I did not need a lesson! You had best make up for this later..."

_I will_ came the light, drifting reply, amusement laced with dark promises. _Oh, how I will._


	2. Part 2: Infidelity

**Infidelity**

A dart to the head shouldn't have resulted in such an exalted sense of self confidence, but any jot of attention gave Finny warmth in his belly like brandy on cold nights. Quite like the feeling he got when Sebastian praised him on the rarest occasions, or when Bard patted him on the head lightly and told him not to worry about the crumpled chrysanthemums at the base of the northern stairway. But the master never needed to be _nice_ to him. It was enough that he noticed he was there at all.

It was colourful admiration. It was dark, rabid envy, seeping black like oil in windpipes, choking and choking and choking. It was love, hot, hot pumping, hearts beating wild rhythms on tight ribcages. A beautiful thing that gave him itchy little tingles underneath his arms and between his legs, a beautiful thing that he didn't want to try to understand.

The master, such noble elegance and grace, skin moulding around his delicate frame like thick, heavy silk, clothes more a burden than an accessory. He strides through arching hallways with intense purpose, focused, diligent. Someone to aspire to, someone to adore. Finny often watched him move around the mansion on his way to the dining room, to the garden, to his study, to his room. The latter was where Finny currently stood, back pushed tight against the wall beside the grand mahogany doors, tatty straw hat clutched to his chest as though it made him invisible.

"You self-important bastard," the master hissed, Finny straining to listen. The door was open a crack through which only a bookshelf and the corner of the bedside table was visible, on it a china cup of Darjeeling tea – its distinct scent unmistakable - decorated with blue cherry blossoms. Finny rarely heard the master curse, but something about it made his heart _pound_, his voice firm, strong, commanding, the voice of a man, a master, a sensuous and demanding lover. Chewing his lip nervously, Finny's fingers drifted down his abdomen, pinching the tattered hem of his shirt, conscious of the warmth underneath the waistband of his shorts.

"I did as you asked, young master." Sebastian, smooth, careful, teasing like rustling wind disturbing burnt-black leaves. There was silence for a few moments, Finny imagining his master's dog-like scowl, his cheeks, ripe red apples. Sebastian would be stood before him, gloved hand poised against his chest, smile faint and deceptively cold, "Acting like a brat is most unbecoming of a young gentleman."

"I am not acting like a brat, I am simply stating a fact. You intentionally disobeyed me, Sebastian," the master growled. Finny shuddered inside out, turning to shuffle carefully along the door, reminding himself of a yellow-black clam suckled against jagged sea rocks. He could see the bed now; the master idly perched on the edge while Sebastian delicately removed his walking boots and replaced them with a pair of royal blue wool-work slippers emblazoned with the Phantomhive crest. "You are getting wayward and I am telling you to stop. I am tired of your jokes and your lessons."

Sebastian's fingers danced merrily along the master's smooth shin, slithering black socks up to ice-white knees. He tied the small blue ribbon wound into the fabric of each into perfect little bows, then rose to do the same with the matching ribbon around the master's neck with absolute dexterity. Finny wetted his lips, two fingers lazily brushing the bony juncture of his hip. "I do not 'joke', young master," Sebastian said, his voice sharpening, "and as a butler of the phantomhive family, it is my duty to provide the appropriate _lessons_. Forgive me if I have been 'wayward', but if I have, then you have been incredulously demanding and difficult."

The master's eyes narrowed, soft hair obscuring his vision. It made him look animal and wild, a tiger cub ready to pounce. "Even if I am as you say, it is your 'duty' to do as I tell you. Never just leave me like that again. It is...uncouth."

Sebastian's grin was feral. "Uncouth was the way you pleaded for more, young master," he said, fingers massaging dollish knees, gently easing them apart. Fingers waved patterns up and up and... The master huffed and snapped his legs shut, Sebastian sitting back on his heels, putout. Finny pressed fingers to warm cheeks, wondering why he was enjoying this scene.

"Go," Ciel snapped, folding his arms like a pompous child. "I do not plead for anything, Sebastian. Get out."

Sebastian rose slowly and tipped his head without another word. When he glanced towards the door, Finny squeaked and frantically searched for somewhere to hide, darting down the hallway to bury himself inside a handy cabinet. The handle creaked in protest of force, but didn't snap, Finny scrambling into the empty space and sucking in his breath to hold, praying Sebastian wouldn't find him. But when he heard soft footsteps fade into the distance, he sighed, cautiously peering into the hallway.

His legs wobbled as he clambered to his feet, wood splintering when he steadied his weight against the cabinet. Herculean strength was only rarely a gift, Finny wondering if Sebastian might recognise his handprint in the polished dark wood. When he reached the door to the master's room, he found it was wide open with no sign of anyone. He had never gleaned a proper look inside, only gaining glimpses from time to time on his way past, but it was the most beautiful of all the rooms in the mansion. A four poster bed with streams of gold draped like silk vines, mahogany stained furniture with bulbous brass handles. Four wardrobes lined the far wall, one of them wide open. A strange, pink ensemble peered between colourful shirts, haphazardly stuffed in like drunken whores into awaiting carriages.

Finny glanced up and down the hallway and then, confident all was quiet, crept into the room towards the wardrobe. He tugged at the material, delighted by the sensation of surprisingly cool satin smoothing through his fingers. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled the scent, jasmine and lavender writhing with the faint musk of boyish exertion. Pushing aside dull, stuffy shirts, Finny unhooked the pretty fabric creature and saved it from choking, holding it aloft to get a better look.

A dress? A pretty, elegant, _pink_, dress. Finny lifted the garment to hook it on the wardrobe door, stepping back to scrutinise. It was definitely a dress. In the master's wardrobe. A dress in the master's wardrobe.

"What are you doing in my room?"

Finny stumbled backwards in surprise, sending a decorative porcelain jug spiralling to the floor. The master stood in the doorway to his en-suite, cheeks bright red. He strode to the wardrobe and yanked the dress from the door, stuffing the thing into one of the drawers underneath before pointing a finger in his servant's direction. "Since when did I suggest my servants were allowed to rifle through my belongings?" he snapped, Finny frozen with fear. "What did you think you were doing? Well? Finnian?!"

Finny jerked, looking over at his master with wide eyes. The master, _his_ master, calm, cool, distant. His master knew his name. "You...you called me 'Finnian'," he stammered, eyes quivering with emotion. The master's expression faltered, accusing finger falling. He flicked the hair from his eyes, refastening the tie of his robe.

"Of course I know your name. Do you think I do not know my own servants? Tch," he replied, some of his anger dissipating. He glared at the snippet of pink creeping from the drawer, fiddling with the ring on his finger.

"I-I'm s-sorry, Master Ciel!" Finny cried suddenly. "P-Please don't tell Sebastian. He'll be so terribly angry with me."

The master licked his lips lightly, tapping his chin. "Will he, indeed?" he said softly, glancing once more towards his hidden shame. He grinned, bending down suddenly to retrieve the dress. Then he tossed it towards Finny, who scrambled to catch it. He would have enjoyed having such soft waves of material in his arms if the master didn't have that mischievous, devious look in his eyes that spoke of many, many wicked things ahead. He walked towards the grand, high-backed chair beside the bed and sank into it and then with a simple flick of his hand, he said, "Strip."

Finny stared like his master had grown another head. "'S-strip', s-sir?" he repeated. The master tapped his foot impatiently and nodded, regally balancing his head upon his hand. He looked bored, a child-king dissatisfied with the entertainment of commoners.

"If you do not want Sebastian to find out about this, you will do as I say. Strip."

Finny, though baffled, didn't need to be told again, draping the dress over a nearby chair and quickly tugging free of his shirt. He undid the tie of his shorts with surprising deftness, letting them pool around his feet like a shedded beige skin. His entire body, thin for his strength, burned with embarrassment beneath the examination of his master, the faintest of smiles on his lips, but despite it all he felt familiar tingling between his legs that left him feeling hot and light-headed.

"The rest, too," the master said casually like he was asking for the rest of the cream on a chocolate cake, gesturing towards Finny's plain white undergarments. Finny glanced down, terrified his body would betray his feelings. Squeezing his eyes shut, he removed everything in one movement, dropping the garment at his feet with his shorts.

His skin was dark in the candlelight, bronzed by hours out in the sunshine tending to the garden. A blond boy Icarus, lightly haired and toned. The master smiled, Finny pleased he was meeting his approval, despite his trembling limbs and chattering teeth. He was the mutt amongst pedigrees for inspection, the strength of his hind legs, the whiteness of his canines, the firmness of his balls, the length of his cock. The master lapped the sight like iced water in the heat of simmering summer afternoons, curling a finger towards the dress. "Put it on," he said simply, lazily sinking lower in his seat.

Finny nodded, lifting the dainty creature from the chair and over his head, letting it sweep down his body like strawberry milk, the white lace frothing around his shoulders. He fiddled and faffed until it sat as best it could on the body of a 17 year old boy, painfully tight around his middle, folds of netting scratching the delicate skin now hidden underneath it. It was uncomfortable, stiff, hot, but it was for the master. That was all that mattered.

"Come here," he said firmly. Finny took cautious steps forward until he stood before the chair, only thankful he had _something_ to cover his aching want. The master smiled up at him, a dark, tainted grin that made Finny's stomach flip with eager excitement for things to come. Small, thin fingers skirted over wrinkled satin, down towards the hem where they gripped a handful of material and lifted it up. Finny squeaked, own fingers clenching in the dress.

"Please, Master Ciel," he begged, shaking his head. "This is embarrass – ah!"

The master laughed softly as he disappeared beneath rolls of pink, mouth wrapping eagerly around Finny's cock. Finny stood poker straight, fingers flexing frantically at his sides. Desire, hot, wanton desire unlike he had ever known, touch unlike quick fumbles beneath the sheets in the servant's quarters to bring untidy, uncalculated ecstasy. He completely fell for this, whimpering and moaning like a bitch in heat, shuffling forward to encourage more, more, more, more, _more_, God, _more_.

The master was deft, pausing to wet his fingers. Gloriously moist, they slid over Finny's rear and quickly found what they sought, sinking between tight muscles and into soft warmth. Finny's cry barely made it to his lips, tumbling over as nothing but a pretty little whimper like the soft protest of spring lambs. Fingers sank in so far Finny barely thought it possible, bending over to grasp the arms of the master's chair, fearful of touching him. The master neither minded nor cared, Finny's cock briefly slipping from his lips with a delightful slurp before he dived forward again.

Two fingers became three, curling inside him with such skill that Finny wondered where his master could have possibly learnt it. He came so easily then that the master was amused when he reappeared from beneath the cocoon of satin, lips and cheek splattered with youthful cum like dripping tree-sap, sweet and milky. Sweeping fingers along his cheek, he gathered most of it between his fingers, watching it dribble to his wrist where he dragged his tongue from the faint flicker of his pulse, all the way to the very tip of his ring finger. Finny's cheeks flared redder.

"Th-thank you, M-Master Ciel," he whispered, voice hoarse. He couldn't help his euphoric smile for the knowledge his master knew his name, wanted to touch him. So long with nothing but cool disregard, occasional mockery, disdainful looks and now this, heat and kisses and sex.

When he felt his senses returning, Finny looked down at the frumpy mess surrounding him, an enormous, lacy meringue, and mumbled, "Can I t-take this off now?"

"No," the master said simply. "It suits you."

"Master-" Finny grunted when he was yanked down, the master's lips finding his to play with and push. Ever conscious of his power to crush hardy bone like it was powdery limestone, Finny clenched his fists at his sides, desperate, but too terrified to touch. The master seemed frustrated when he refused to move from the spot he stood in, hauling Finny forwards with unexpected might. He ravenously sank his teeth into his lip, blood oozing from the wound to spread like red ink over his tongue. It healed extraordinarily quickly, the master smirking.

"What else could I do to you?" he whispered, nails leaving thin pink trails from jaw to collar. "It would be so easy to--"

"Supper and peppermint tea, young master."

Both looked over to see Sebastian standing in the doorway with the evening's supper on one tray, tea on the other, balanced perfectly on each hand. The master arched an eyebrow challengingly, Sebastian drinking the scene that greeted him like week-old wine, knowing precisely what had happened. Then he smiled, fluid like settling water. "The young master has been busy," he said, casting his glance inexplicably viciously in Finny's direction as he set both supper and tea upon the table in the centre of the room. Finny shrank back, hurriedly tugging his shorts up to hips sticky with sweat while he fought to rid himself of the wriggling pink snake swallowing him whole. The thing flopped to the floor as exhausted as its wearer, Finny finding his shirt crumpled on the floor and tugging it on backwards. Still feeling naked, he folded his arms over his chest and sank back into the safety of shadows, watching the master and his butler exchanging brutal glances.

"You can go now, Finny," the master said, dismissively waving his hand. Finny looked over quickly, unsure why his eyes were watering the way they were, why he felt the ache of anguish in his chest. He nodded regardless, tipping his head as he hurried towards the door, a scolded child. Sebastian's hand on his shoulder made him pause and he looked up into eyes red like welded metal and a smile false like back-street merchants.

"Be sure to rid the roses of their thorns, Finny," he murmured, fingers tightening around soft flesh. Finny winced in surprise, Sebastian dipping lower to whisper in his ear. "We would not want anyone getting _pricked_ by something _sharp_."

Finny nodded, heart hammering when Sebastian finally let go to turn back to his master. When safely on the other side of the door, he sank against it with a sigh, quickly wiping his cheeks, palm resting against his chest as if to still his hammering heart.

This time he didn't stay to listen to the conversation that followed.

~Fin~


	3. Chapter 3

**Guilty Pleasures**

"Whatever is the matter, Sebastian? You look so terribly bitter."

Ciel reclined in his high-backed chair, a satisfied cat basking in his gluttony. Absently he rubbed his belly, legs crossing at the ankles as he licked his lips, watching Sebastian arrange plates on the rounded table in front of him with intense precision. He whipped out a napkin, leaning forward to drape it across his master's lap, then poured tea into a fine china mug.

"Roasted figs with blue cheese, young master," he said as he rose with the teapot in hand. He looked sour when he continued, murmuring dryly, "There is nothing the matter. I am doing my duty."

Ciel could barely contain his devious little grin, scrutinising his butler with every ounce of suspicious calculation. Every sniff, every gesture, every glance cast his way. Nonchalantly lifting an insignificant document from the table to peruse, he said, "So, you would say you have no opinion on what you just saw?"

Sebastian shifted from one foot to the other, idly fiddling with the serviette draped across his forearm. He took a moment to answer, pursing his lips. "Of course not, young master," he said finally, eyes trained on the frilled, pink snake coiled on the floor, a dress he had once been rather fond of. His nose wrinkled in disgust. "I am just a servant of the Phantomhive family. I have no opinions."

Ciel scoffed, dropping the paper in his hand on a pile beside his chair. He lifted his cup to his lips, sipping elegantly. Propping it on the arm of his chair, he said, "But if you did have opinions, what would you say?"

Not oblivious to this little game, Sebastian sighed, rolling his eyes. His young master, such a wily little brat, always trying to outsmart his poor butler who _only _wishes to perform his duties to the best of his ability. "Young master, there is nothing I have to say," he said firmly, knowing what to expect from his precious little brat. He bowed as if to excuse himself, only to pause when Ciel grasped his wrist.

"I _order_ you to tell me exactly what you think about what you saw."

Sebastian straightened, glaring at the china teapot with almost enough intensity to shatter it. He removed his wrist from Ciel's weak grip and smiled painfully, silence but for the agonising tick-tock of the clock on the desk beside the window. Childish game this was, a game he would not lose. "I thought pink was not Finnian's best colour," he said after a moment, reaching over to rearrange the cutlery for supper. "I also thought that you could have picked someone better in your attempt to make me jealous."

Cheeks colouring, Ciel sat up straight in his chair, snatching a fork from Sebastian's fingers. He stabbed a fig through the middle, the flesh oozing with juice as his fingers drummed impatiently against his knee. "Why on Earth would I want to make you jealous?" he snapped, half a fig poised against his lips. He sank his teeth into it, pinkish blood dribbling down his chin. Sebastian wasted no time in offering a napkin, smile tainted with undeniable delight, Ciel snatching it angrily. "You are just a servant. I do not care what you think."

"Did you not just demand my opinion?"

Ciel have him a look that could melt steel, Sebastian taking the hint with good humour and retreating a few steps with the dip of his head. Nothing more was said on the matter, Ciel devouring supper in relative silence except when he demanded a dessert wine to compliment the meal, accusing Sebastian of intentionally forgetting it to annoy him. Sebastian hadn't risen to the bait, quietly apologising and fetching it straight away.

"Some ruby port to compliment, young master," he murmured, rich scarlet sinking like silk into Wedgewood crystal. Ciel eagerly snatched the small glass, barely taking a moment to savour the autumnal cinnamon fragrance before he gulped the lot in one mouthful, wiping his lips on the back of his hand like a common vagabond. Sebastian opened his mouth to protest, cut off when Ciel gestured wildly with the glass for a refill.

Three quarters of an hour later, Ciel was cradling the bottle to his chest, cheeks decidedly pinker than they had been earlier. His posture relaxed again, one foot precariously propped against the edge of the table. The glass had been abandoned, lips ravenously suckling the bottle neck while Sebastian stood to the side, concerned for his master's sudden abandonment of restraint when he rose rather suddenly and swayed on his feet like some sleazy street harlot. Quite distasteful.

"Young master, I think you are drunk," Sebastian murmured dryly, watching Ciel stagger towards the bed, letting his robe slip to the floor after struggling with the knot.

"I am most certainly not!" he insisted, virgin-white night shirt revealing the expanse of pale legs when he clambered clumsily across the mattress, port spattering like blood over stone. He fussed with the covers until he could slither underneath, Sebastian moving around the bed to draw them up to his waist. Yet, when he tried to prise the bottle from his little master's hand, he made a noise Sebastian had never heard from him in his time at the Phantomhive Mansion. A _whine_.

His master. Drunk.

He took another almighty swig, fingers knotting in the sheets. The room was dark but for a single candle on the bedside table, bathing the two of them in insipid orange. Waiting for him to settle, Sebastian reached to remove the black eye patch, but Ciel shoved his hand away with unexpected aggression, wild in firelight, suddenly angered. "Did you feel no stirrings of jealousy at all?" he said quickly, as though he didn't quite want Sebastian to hear him. He was swooping to retrieve both discarded robe and pretty pink dress, hanging both amongst a flurry of clothes in the enormous burr walnut wardrobe. Everything was arranged by type, and then colour, deepest blacks drifting to royal blue, satin red to hillside green. Though the dress really had no place, Sebastian smiled for his own perfectionism, smoothing a fine silk jerkin through his fingers.

"Why did you desire for me to be jealous, young master?" he asked carefully, the distant scent of boyishness pushing a smile to his lips. Turning, he saw his master had finally relinquished his hold over the port bottle. It now sat on the bedside table, eye patch draped solemnly around the widening nape, the master nothing but a weary child sinking into the comfort of personally picked pillows that folded around him like warm arms. "You know that I cannot refuse anything you ask of me. If there was something you needed..."

"No," Ciel respond stroppily, cracking open an eye to peer up at his butler in agitation. Sebastian expected some other retort, but nothing came. Unusual, he thought, bending down to stoke the fire. He held his hands to the flames for a few moments, licking his lips when they eagerly stretched to meet him. When the master whispered his name, he stood at the bedside with his usual, elegant charm, the bottle now gone and the patch hanging where it was meant to. Ciel's voice was no louder than a whisper, his words cautious, even nervous. "Tell me. Were you jealous or were you not?"

"Tell me why this means so much to you," Sebastian answered, "and I will answer."

Ciel's nose wrinkled. Angrily he waved his hand and rolled so his back was to him, muttering, "Forget it, Sebastian. You are not worth the trouble. Good night."

Sebastian knew better than to tarry in matters of his master's much-needed rest, but... Gaze soft, his eyes sank over the muted figure of this child he was to protect, curves delicate, leisurely changing with the insistent ache of adulthood. A boy, a brat, a king. He grumbled impatiently when the bed sank with Sebastian's weight, complaining of nausea, of a furry, dry sort of taste on his tongue. "That would be the port, young master," he said, amused by ripened cheeks and that sour visage of discontent, self-inflicted sickness deserving no sympathy. But Sebastian gave it regardless, lips brushing his master's temple. "Shall I fetch you some water?"

With some difficulty Ciel shuffled onto his back, swallowing quietly when he discovered Sebastian leaning close, his scent a divine, sweet musk like heavy rain in hot, English summers. He stared at lips as perfect as every last inch as he shook his head, parted, mischievous white fang snagging flesh with the smile that seeped from cheek to cheek. A devilish creature; cruel, devious, sexual, a beast, a demon.

Fingers crept beneath the sheets, nails skimming a quivering inner thigh. The leg beneath Sebastian's fingers twitched and he chuckled, long digits wrapping around Ciel's swiftly growing cock, thumb pushing idle bursts against his damp, smooth tip. Legs instinctively spread, Sebastian snatching a moment to slip free of his gloves –draping them dotingly beside the pillows - and the his shoes as he crawled underneath to join his master, sinking against his heat, legs pushed wide to accommodate him. Sensitive thing that he was, Ciel took enormous pleasure in Sebastian's weight and warmth, fingers knotting recklessly into crow-black hair, kisses insistent and needy. Sebastian laughed between each, ignoring the pinch to his neck for his teasing.

The clock struck 10, its chime distant like bells under water. Ciel tugged eagerly on Sebastian's waistband, growling when he couldn't loosen the button or the zip. "Your hands are shaking," Sebastian whispered, grasping them in his own. His smirk spoke of a thousand sexual encounters, Ciel sneering when he continued, "Are you nervous, little master?"

Ciel's trembling limbs belied the shake of his head, grunting when both wrists were effortlessly pinned above him by a single hand. So aroused his cock brushed his belly, he grunted when wet fingers wiggled inside him, wondrous adventurers seeking treasure, hanging onto his cry for more with every effort.

"Is this what you want?" Sebastian asked, his voice softer, barely there at all. Ciel could feel his own enjoyment pressed against his thigh, wetting his lips with the knowledge that it might soon be buried inside him. He nodded to Sebastian's question, but it wasn't the answer he wanted, his grin feral, _electric. _"Say it, young master. Say it and I will do it."

"S-Sebastian..." Ciel groaned, quickly losing his ability to resist anything his body was begging for. Still it wasn't enough, Sebastian curling his fingers inside fleshy warmth, intentionally forgoing Ciel's achingly sensitive nerves hidden like a pearl in a clam. He sank his teeth into his shoulder, and that was finally enough, Ciel growling, "Do it! Do it, Sebastian!"

Penetration was smooth, Ciel's fingers curling into his palms where nails left passionate red welts. Sebastian's hair tickled his nose. It was a strange comfort in the moment, eyes squeezed shut to hide the emotions that would so easily bleed through. When he allowed his body the chance to relax, all his senses caught up and tumbled helplessly together. He felt filled and secure in this twisted, dirty embrace, wrists still captured above his head, legs splayed as wide as his fragile limbs would allow.

"P-please," he whispered, cock trapped between their bodies, desperate, twitching. Sebastian rose panther-like to his knees, Ciel curved elegantly underneath him. His cocky grin had sifted away, not quite the smile of a lover in its place. He started to thrust, fingers tightening around white wrists with every jerk until he heard his master offer him the smallest whimper. It wasn't much, but it would do, he decided, burying his nose against his master's neck, taking endless pleasure in ragged breaths and sex-tinged sweat that was sweet and bitter and fresh all at once. Ciel's head lolled left to right the closer he grew to orgasm, warm, sticky precum puddled in his navel. All at once his limbs locked, fingers twitching when he let go and moaned the way Sebastian wanted him to..

Succumbing to him was all Sebastian needed. He drew out to release over precious thighs, Ciel dazed and exhausted, a ragged, panting mess, a child mauled by a beautiful monster. It was a sight worth seeing, Sebastian thought, an unusual tingling in his chest as he cleaned away the evidence and slid from the bed, taking the briefest moment to dip his tongue into a heaving belly-button.

His master was fast asleep. Tucking him beneath sullied sheets, Sebastian tugged on his gloves and his shoes, licking his lips for the lingering taste of the young master. He would have to wash the covers in the morning, and that nightshirt... For the time being, he only anticipated reminding his little master of his alcoholic indiscretions, bending down to whisper in his ear, "I do not need to be jealous, when I know you are mine."

Fin~


End file.
